The Bardo
by Bob the Taco Thief
Summary: Steve wakes up to find himself in a strange location, where he is confronted with his own inner desires and demons. Will he crumble or find something to help hold onto his sanity in the face of impending doom?


The comforting warmth and soft light of the morning sun coming through the thin white drapes covering the bedroom window, was the first thing Steve Rogers noticed as he woke up.

On any average night, Steve would generally fall asleep in whatever comfortable pants were readily available. Today as normal, his torso was bare, while his legs were covered in pants made of some luxurious navy fabric, with the Avengers logo emblazoned at the left hip.

The bed underneath him was miraculously soft, to the point it felt as if he was floating in mid-air. Lazily he propped himself up on his forearms and swung his feet over the side. Sitting on the edge for a minute he began rubbing the palms of his hands into his eyes. Steve stared ahead at the window, absent-mindedly noting that the blinds were only partially closed, which had allowed the sun to peek through the slats and wake him up.

Finding the strength so early in the morning was a little difficult, but Steve pushed himself up and ambled tiredly over to the window. He swiftly pulled the thin drapes away and created a larger gap in the blinds with his fingers, exposing the outside world to his tired eyes.

It was an ideal summer morning, the sun shining brightly with soft hues of red and orange, illuminating the entire neighborhood in a near perfect, ethereal glow. Directly underneath him the front yard seemed to sparkle with early morning dew on top of the vivid, pristine green grass, while the birds chirped away with a pitch perfect song.

One would not be remiss to feel as if they were in a Disney movie, surrounded by such a utopian version of suburban bliss. The scene in front of his eyes was so perfect, the Captain wouldn't have felt it out-of-place if Julie Andrews had appeared and begun to sing along.

Steve closed his eyes and sighed aloud, falling back into memories of him and Natasha Romanoff sitting on his leather couch, the dark room illuminated by the bright light coming from the television as The Sound of Music played.

The day had been abnormally rainy, the sky black and ominous, while the occasional flash of lightning would imprint itself upon the Washington, D.C. skyline. It had been in between missions; several days before the Lemurian Star mission, before the fall of SHIELD, when life had been starting to finally make sense after his defrosting. Natasha had randomly showed up near midnight, slipping inside as Steve opened the door, and without a backwards glance sauntered over to the couch, flaunting the DVD case above her head and claiming that it was a necessary viewing for his popular culture reassimilation.

Shaking himself out of his reverie, his gaze shifted upwards. Steve took in the picturesque blue sky, with only a few sparse clouds hanging in suspended animation above, allowing the sunlight to crash around them. Sun shimmering on the outer leaves of the vast and sturdy tree, standing stalwart at the center of the lawn.

Everything was the picture-perfect representation of the flawless summer days Steve remembered appreciating before he volunteered to be involved in Doctor Erskine's experiment.

Back in those simpler times he and his mother would occasionally look out their window and just enjoy the sights and sounds of life rolling onwards, grateful for another day that Steve was still alive. There was no world to save, no missing decades from his life, alien gods to worry about, or robots with an abrasive personality and god complex.

The beautiful landscape reminded him of when Natasha introduced him to Bob Ross. This sort of morning landscape would be a prime example for his work, but had Natasha been there, she would make a sarcastic comment about the situation and take it as another chance to playfully mock him about his age and understanding of popular culture.

After the initial period of awkwardness, Steve began to get used to her sense of humor and would chuckle quietly to himself as she ranted and joked at his expense, simply enjoying how relaxed she would be in those moments. He learned to cherish these moments, it having been a long way into their partnership at SHIELD before she had dropped some of her walls, and he saw anything other than the mission ready version of Black Widow.

There was only one problem with this perfect morning, that tarnished it quite a bit in Steve's eyes. He had no idea where he was, whose house he was in, or how he had even got there in the first place.

Even though Steve was aware of this and knew he should feel at least some measure of worry, he could only muster a small amount of unease at best. His mind felt as if it was in the fog between sleep and wakefulness, unable to truly focus on the reality in front of his eyes.

The small noise of slightly squeaky bedsprings tore his attention away from those thoughts and he turned around, only now aware that he had apparently not been alone on the bed he had awoken on.

His knees felt rubbery and the fog around his head seemed to further envelop him and tunnel in his vision until all he could see was the figure of one Peggy Carter on the bed lazily stretching her arms above her head and smiling coyly at him underneath half closed eyes.

The fog continued to press in and Steve could hardly process his own thoughts, barely being able to make the connection that for some reason she looked as she did back in the 1940's; young, vibrant, and full of life. A far cry from the old woman he still would go to see in the nursing home as often as he could.

He was thrown back into his life before the crash and snapshots of his and Peggy's relationship played on the surface of his mind.

His confusion with the concept of fondue still made him cringe internally, while the moment she stood strong and shot her pistol at his shield rang through his head.

A hundred other small moments from a life, long gone, spun around, before settling on a quiet recent day sat beside her bed for hours. It had been a maelstrom of emotion seeing the once proud strong woman who somehow laid before him now, so frail and confused. Peggy's mind, once resilient and uncompromised, was falling apart in front of him so soon after reconnecting with her. The more recent picture of his first love, vividly clashed with the vision in front of him, and Steve began to question his own sanity.

As soon as the mere idea that something was not quite right made it into his head, any worries immediately vanished, as if by some magic. All that was left was elation and appreciation that she was here with him. The outside world no longer held his attention and the light coming through the window faded away till only the artificial light from a lamp at bedside illuminated the bedroom.

His slight hesitation was noticed by Peggy and the smile fell from her face, now contorted into an expression of concern for him, "Steve?" she questioned while sitting up straighter on the bed her back now resting against the dark wooden headboard, "Is everything all right?"

Steve's mind wandered for a moment, pondering her question. How could this scenario be just all right? It was perfect; everything he wanted. Right?

He tried to focus for a second and come up with anything about the situation that was wrong or out-of-place, but Peggy's small movement pulled him back to the reality in front of his eyes and any notion of wrongness swiftly fled his mind. Peggy was there in front of him, her head tilted slightly to the side as she took in his perplexing actions, concern still shining in her eyes for him.

A small smile came to his face before he responded, eager to rid her of any negative feelings on his behalf, "No. Everything I could want is right here."

Confirming that he was fine brought a smirk to Peggy's beautiful, plump red lips and her eyes shone bright with an intensity that nearly blinded Steve to anything else but her. In the back of his mind the small act of Peggy staring over at him and smirking pulled at his memories, dancing just out of reach like directions to a lost man.

For a moment, the sunlight came streaming through the blinds once again and shone like a spotlight over Peggy, bathing her in its warm glow. Her figure seemed to float gracefully underneath the soft cotton sheets, the pristine linens emphasizing her pale porcelain skin. The sunlight played with her hair, mussed up after sleep in a way that almost seemed deliberate, as if she was an actress playing the part of someone just waking up. For a split second, the sunbeam seemed to make her brunette hair glow a brilliant shade of red.

Steve blinked, and in that small fraction of time the sunlight was gone, and Peggy's ash brown hair shone, solely from the backlighting of the lamp behind her, "Well then, how about we go downstairs and you cook up something delicious." She stated, making her way off the bed and padding across the room to give the Captain a small caress with her lips on his cheek, "I will see how little Steven's doing, and join you soon."

She turned on her heel and strode out of the bedroom, making her way out of sight and missing the shocked features on Steve's face, "Little Steven?" he murmured aloud to himself, pondering the possible and probable meaning of those two simple words.

Seconds seemed to stretch into hours, the opposite of how he felt after waking from a deep freeze, when decades had past him by in the blink of an eye. The haze around his mind thickened once again and conscious thought left him adrift in his own head, with no buoy to grasp hold of. The blond super human's feet began moving forward of their own accord, as if propelled by some imaginary puppeteer where he just a marionette whose strings held onto the remnants of his own sanity.

Following in Peggy's footsteps, the soldier marched out into the hallway and halted, searching left and right for the correct path to travel. To his right, the hallway stretched another twenty or so feet till it stopped at a rustic oak door. The door had been left open just a crack, orange light creeping out to fight the darkness filling the hall.

To his left was a small shadowy landing that fell off into a steep staircase leading to the lower level of the abode. Glancing back to his right once again Steve turned left and walked away from the light, a sense of foreboding pulling him away from the door and what may lie behind it.

Steve placed one foot in front of the other, descending into the darkness below. At the bottom his left hand skimmed along the wall hoping to find a light switch.

Miraculously, he almost immediately found the hard-plastic switch, flicking it upwards and eliminating the shadows with unnatural light. A quaint foyer greeted him, the front door a solid barrier to the outside world, with a large beige rug covering the hardwood floors at the entrance. Three sets of shoes lined the wall near the door; one large pair of brown leather Oxfords, a navy-blue pair of summer peep toe wedges, and small white shoes that could easily fit lengthwise in Steve's palm.

A flash of deep brown eyes, singed with an exhaustion so deep it was inhuman crossed his mind at the sight of the tiny shoes. The echoes of fire roaring in the background and a smell so atrocious he wouldn't wish it on his worst enemies pervaded his senses.

He had to close his eyes and physically shake his head to rid himself of the disturbing vision. For once Steve welcomed the abnormal haze, as it returned to muddle his visions of the past once again.

The opening at his right lead into a beautiful kitchen, complete with every amenity a person could desire inside. The Captain walked in, his blue eyes taking in the modern stainless steel appliances, freshly polished and glittering in the sunlight that streamed through the wide window above the large sink. A blue-white marble counter top created a focal point in the center of the room, a lonely island surrounded by a sea of rich wood flooring.

Progressing farther into the room Steve ran the back of his hand along the marble top, reminiscing of the peace he would find while creating delicious dishes to help wind down after the stress of their everyday lives. Closing his eyes, Steve lost himself in late night conversations where the only light came from the moon outside. Where food was shared in comfort and content, feelings of acceptance and peace found in an unexpected companion amidst a world that he still didn't understand.

Loud creaks emanated from the stairway behind him and made their way into his ears, breaking up his thoughts. Steve's eyelids lifted, noting the wide window's blinds had fallen, cutting off the sun as if it was connected directly to a light switch.

Audible footsteps crept up behind him and Peggy's soothing voice slithered over him, "I leave you for five minutes and nothing is done. Typical." Her tone was light and joking, "I often wonder if you took one too many blows to the head in your time."

Peggy waltzed across the room stopping at several cabinets and pulling out all the necessary items to create a fantastic breakfast, with a swiftness and certainty that could only come from familiarity.

She had changed into a pair of comfortable gray sweatpants, loose enough to hint at the curves underneath while clinging to her graceful movement. On top, she had thrown on what appeared to be a simple long-sleeved white button up shirt, that if he had to hazard a guess, Steve assumed must have been his given its size in comparison to her. Peggy had buttoned it up, leaving the top button undone, exposing the tantalizing lines of her neck, creating a vision of subtle sensuality that Steve had always admired. Mixing together the more conservative ideals of forties beauty standards, with a hint of risqué modernism. Reminiscent of the typical clothing worn by women, post hibernation, that had taken quite a bit of time for the old-fashioned gentleman in Steve to get used to.

It felt awkward to be reminded of Natasha in the presence of his first love, yet he found his thoughts taken over by her once again.

He vividly recalled small, seemingly insignificant moments of himself blushing and glancing away from Natasha, dressed in some outfit deemed indecent based on his own antiquated sentimentalities. Quick furtive glances back, that somehow the Russian spy would always catch without fail and use as ammunition to tease him relentlessly. The moments played in quick succession, like someone sprinting through a slide show, learning everything they needed to know in the cursory images.

As had become habit this morning, Steve forced himself back into the present and focused on the back of Peggy's form as she worked away over the stove top, cooking what smelt like eggs and bacon on the skillet. The sunlight pushed its way inside, creating a radiant aura that outlined the voluptuous curves in front of his eyes.

"Might want to take a picture. I hear memory loss is a significant problem for relics like you Cap." Steve twitched at the familiar barbs. If he didn't know better he would have bet money that Natasha was in the room with him, poking fun at him with joy in her words and a playful smirk ready to continue the onslaught of jests.

She had a seemingly endless supply of age related jokes and he wouldn't be surprised if she had a hidden notebook where she would work out new variations to sling his way.

Early on in their partnership the jokes had been a pointed effort on her part to push his buttons and irritate him. For a spy, she not been subtle about making her disappointment over not working with Clint anymore, overtly clear to him. The first couple of months had been rough treading between the two, their distinct personalities unable to find common ground, but while the content of the jokes did not change, the tone and emotion behind them slowly did.

"I was joking earlier, but you are looking a little bit lost there, Gramps."

Steve startled at the familiar jest lobbed his way and out of reflex retaliated with dry humor, "Remember Singapore? At least I can read a map without sending us down the wrong road, Nat." Steve cringed, recognizing his case of mistaken identity immediately and waiting for the inevitable angry response from Peggy.

Amazingly no such response came. In fact, to Steve's astonishment, she chuckled quietly to herself never turning her focus away from the sizzling food in front of her. For the second time this morning the sun bounced off her hair and shone a bright, vibrant red. Only this time the sun seemed to be amplifying, rather than playing with his perceptions of the base color.

Frustration and confusion from earlier returned, and Steve began to ponder what was wrong with this scene, like it was a game of Spot the Difference between two nearly identical pictures.

Without fail the fog blew in over the harbor that was his mind, and worry over details was obscured behind it. A pale blue dinner plate slid across the marble counter top, humming along as it came to a perfect stop in front of Steve. His eyes followed the plates trajectory towards Peggy who was pulling out a pair of forks with an identical, albeit red plate already set before her.

A tiny smile graced her features as she held one of the forks out for him to take. Without hesitation, he reached out and took the utensil from Peggy. His long fingers running over the top of her hand, creating a small physical connection between them in that moment.

In that seemingly insignificant moment Steve's breath caught in his chest, the first physical contact in seventy years with his first love, looking as she had all those years ago, nearly overwhelming him. It grounded him, providing him something to hold onto through the confusion he had been feeling.

Serene smiles found their way onto both faces as their eyes locked briefly before Peggy made her way back over to the stove top to pull off the now finished breakfast. The young British agent divided up the eggs and bacon between the two plates, with a significantly larger portion going onto the blue plate.

Out of seemingly nowhere, Peggy produced two perfectly toasted English muffins and dropped one onto each now full plate.

Steve noted the lack of a toaster anywhere in the kitchen, but chalked his missing it up to the absent-minded state he had been in. Without a second thought on the subject, Steve picked up his fork and began to simply enjoy what was in front of him.

The food was delectable, perfectly seasoned and cooked to the perfect specifications for Steve's taste. He made his way through the plate taking time to savor every bite.

The delicious delicacies clashed with his memories of what food had been like prior to his seventy-year nap. With his mother barely scraping by, food had been a necessity rather than something to truly indulge in. That hadn't changed once he joined the army. Military rationing was more based on efficiency than creating beautiful five-star meals. Corned beef and other dried meats and fruit, along with bread, were the norm, varying widely based on factors outside his own control.

The difference between the old mostly tasteless food and what he had been creating in the last couple of years was staggering. The late nights of shared food, with his Russian partner, were the first times in his life that Steve had sat down and simply enjoyed food when it wasn't strictly necessary as fuel to keep moving on to the next moment.

While the food was undoubtedly enjoyable on its own merits, Steve would occasionally ponder if the company was what made it special. Often, the soldier would cook and eat alone, and on these occasions, it felt as if the loneliness made the food somehow less fulfilling and delicious.

Perhaps if Steve had not been distracted with the succulent food and trip down memory lane, he would have taken the time to look up and may have noticed the moment when Peggy's dark chocolate eyes were briefly taken over by a crimson mist.

Instead, Steve nearly jumped out of his own skeleton when his head tilted upwards to find familiar green eyes staring back at his own, rather than the brown eyes of his old flame. Simultaneously his fingers suddenly seemed to lose all strength and coordination causing the fork to fall onto the plate, the loud clatter filling up the room.

Eventually the sound faded and Steve audibly gulped, attempting to clear his throat, that suddenly felt drier than a desert, amidst a drought, during the hottest of summers. After a moment, he could find his voice again and croaked out in confusion, "Natasha?"

The emerald green eyes now reflected confusion, and her brow furrowed as she stared back into his eyes before she flippantly responded, "What is it? Do I have something in my teeth?"

To her question, Steve could only stare, his breakfast long since forgotten, while his mouth seemed disconnected from his brain and unable to produce intelligible speech.

Natasha raised her eyebrows, her eyes widening allowing the emerald green irises to twinkle in the morning light. The former Soviet spy tilted her head at him, eyes narrowing and a playful grin spreading across her red lips, "Captain Rogers, you seem a little stunned."

Stunned was not a strong enough word, Steve was flabbergasted; awestruck, dumbfounded, shocked to say the least. The Captain couldn't come up with a word strong enough to describe what it felt like to have one's first love swap places with another woman in the blink of an eye, faster than Houdini or any other magician could hope to ever achieve.

Slowly, Natasha's hand crept across the counter, her perfectly manicured nails and deceptively strong yet delicate fingers towards his own, "I'm going to go out on a limb and just assume it's because of how great I look." Her hand reached its destination and entwined with his own, the thumb of hers rubbing a small figure eight pattern into the back of his own, "You would think that chivalry you are so proud of would show up right now and agree with me. I've never known you to keep a woman hanging." she teased the grin never leaving her face.

The super human's mouth fell open, his eyes dropping down and taking in how her hand fit inside of his own. He would have assumed the contact would feel awkward given their platonic relationship, and the fact that since his awakening casual physical contact was not commonplace. However, it felt comforting, perhaps more comfortable than anything else recently. Steve's eyes fluttered shut as Natasha continued the calming motion and he responded without thinking, "I would go with beautiful, but I think you already know that."

From behind his closed eyes Steve heard a small uniquely feminine giggle, that he never in a million years would associate with the somewhat aloof, always in control woman he had come to know. "Given your penchant for honesty I will take that as my earlier assumption was correct." Even without opening his eyes Steve could hear the triumphant smirk in her voice, "Although like I've said before, I only think I know everything. It's nice to have someone confirm my suspicions."

Calmness washed over Steve like a warm blanket, on a cold winter night and all his worries began to dissolve away into nothingness. Recognizing the feeling, the soldier steeled himself and pushed away his calm forcing himself to think, "Natasha something weird is happening. I-I-I can't explain it, but something is just not right. I don't know why, but you were not here just one minute ago," Steve stated while cringing at how crazy his words sounded, even to his own ears.

The red headed agent reached over with her other hand and grabbed onto his free hand, beginning to perform the same calming figure-eight motion, "Steve. You know how crazy you sound right now. Right?" her sultry tones seemed to help soothe his troubled mind and the mist began to close in once again, "If I wasn't here, who was?"

Captain America's mouth dropped open ready to explain, but as he attempted to get the explanation out he realized he could no longer recall what had caused his disturbed state in the first place.

Opening his eyes, Steve stared down at the two slender hands on his own, his gaze following up the lean arms that belied the power held beneath. His gaze came to its inevitable end, and he began to drown in the deep pools of green that fully blinded him to the outside world until all that was left was this little slice of life at the kitchen counter top.

"I don't know." Steve finally answered, his voice almost unnaturally soft, still unable to break away from the beautiful little staring contest he was engaged in. "I don't think I care. You are here now." For the first-time Steve actively initiated physical contact with Natasha as he squeezed onto her hands and returned her comforting gestures with small circles of his own, "That's all that matters."

A large smile creeped its way onto Natasha's face and without breaking eye contact she replied, "Perfect." Her left hand pulled free of his while she maintained contact with her right to allow herself access to a fork, "Now eat your breakfast before it gets cold. Men of your age need to ensure they have proper nutrition." She teased popping a forkful of fluffy scrambled egg into her mouth and chewing. "Besides you are going to need the energy to keep up with James at the zoo today."

Steve assumed he had reached his limit on confusion for the day, but evidently that was not true. "James? The zoo?"

One perfectly sculpted eyebrow raised at him in condemnation, "Seriously? I was joking about the memory problems. You couldn't have forgotten that you promised to take your son to the zoo today. Hell, you even roped me into it somehow." She shook her head and looked back down at her food missing the shock etched on Steve's face, "It was your fault anyway showing him all those nature documentaries, how could he not want to go see all the awesome animals." Natasha made small air quotations around, 'awesome animals' attributing the phrase to James rather than herself.

Steve struggled to erase the shocked look from his face and instead focused on finishing the plate of food in front of him, following her earlier advice. While he continued to slowly shovel more food into his mouth, the fact that he apparently had a son, with Natasha of all people bounced endlessly around his head.

As if by some psychic connection, the radiant beauty across from him sensed his increased agitation, and tightened her right-hands hold on his own and transferred from the figure eight pattern to a simple light stroking motion across the knuckles.

The Black Widow let herself stay in that position for about a minute before getting up and gathering the assorted dishes, walking over, and dropping them in the sink. Rays of light shot through the window above the sink and covered the room in a soothing, cozy warmth.

She walked back across the room and stopped next to Steve's still form. Walking her fingers slowly up his arm she delighted in the shivers that coursed throughout his body, and the smirk that developed on her lips locked in place, acutely aware of the power she held over him. She brought ruby red lips closer to his face and her warm breath, coming out in small puffs, hit Steve's neck.

It wasn't because of the haze from earlier, yet Steve couldn't concentrate all the same. The casual, intimate nature of her breath running over him, shut off his higher brain functions and he had a hard time thinking of anything beyond the two of them at that moment.

Out of his peripheral vision, Steve took note as her full lips tilted upwards into a smirk that if he didn't know any better, he would assume she had to have legally patented. As if in slow motion they crept closer and closer, until they made solid contact with his cheek. They felt like small silken pillows of the highest quality, reminding him of the brief correspondence his own lips had with hers while riding an escalator.

Lamentably, it ended all too soon for Steve's taste and his head turned to follow her purposeful movements out of the kitchen into the foyer. Upon reaching the stairs her left hand came to rest on the banister and she glanced over her shoulder back into the kitchen. Red hair curtained off half of her facial features and the lone eye Steve could see was half-lidded, promises of pleasure held within that took Steve's breath away and jolted his body like a small electric shock.

"I will meet you upstairs so we can get ready to go out." Her voice somehow proved to be sultrier and more intimidatingly arousing than Steve had ever heard before and he found himself wondering what crazy, yet enticing world he was in. "Of course, you have to finish your chores and put the dishes in the washer first." Natasha's voice turned sing-song, "A little lady like myself can't do everything for you."

Gathering his breath back Steve snickered, giving in, deciding to just enjoy the ride for whatever it was, "You and I both know you are anything other than a little lady."

If Steve had felt intimidated by her presence before, the Cheshire grin that came to Natasha's lips made him positively terrified, more so than any insane villain had ever achieved. "Well if you would wake up and move faster than the turtle you have been pretending to be this morning, I could show you just what this, 'little lady' is capable of." She challenged, the single visible green eye narrowing with a hunger that could not have been satisfied by the traditional American breakfast that had just been partaken.

The kitchen, which had just prior been a perfectly acceptable climate, became the equivalent of a sauna and Steve pulled at the collar of his shirt as if he was Rodney Dangerfield deliberately overacting.

The tragically rare sound of Natasha's laugh bellowed from the staircase as she moved steadily towards the top level of the house. Hastily, the soldier moved towards the sink and haphazardly arranged the plates and utensils inside the dishwasher.

Standing back up straight Steve's eyeline placed his vision straight in line with the wide window above the sink. The large tree in the center of the yard stood off to his left and the small single story house next door was clearly visible. Colored a generic, bland white, nothing stood out about the small house. No windows covered the outside of the house and its lawn was plain and untouched like what a person would expect of a model home.

The American icon tilted his head left and right trying to gain a superior view of the house, the somewhat odd nature of the structure peeking his inquisitive mind.

"Oh Steve." Floated the soothing tones of Natasha down stairs, "This little lady needs some help in the bedroom."

His concentration understandably shifted elsewhere, and Steve peeled away from the window. Heavy footsteps echoed as the Captain began the trek out of the kitchen, on his way towards the staircase that lead directly to temptation.

Passing by the front door and beginning the climb upwards Steve's attention briefly noticed the room to the left he had passed over before going into the kitchen earlier.

The small room was set up efficiently a large comfortable black couch occupied one wall, across from which was placed a large flat screen television that seemed to dominate the room. The space in between was broken up by a glass coffee table, upon which sat a couple remote controls, as well as a newspaper and several SHIELD emblazoned files. In the corner of the room several multi-colored trucks sat tucked atop a small basket, presumably filled with more toys underneath.

Finishing the climb, Steve glanced around the landing, noting that Natasha must have turned on the lights since what had previously been obscured under shadow was now visible. One wall was lined with photographs of Steve and Natasha, while some of the pictures included a small boy, with familiar red hair and sky blue eyes.

He skimmed over the images not really processing the contents until his eyes landed on a life-like pencil sketch of Natasha. She was wearing a black dress that divided at her shoulders and neckline which were covered in a silky white material. Her eyes were pointed towards the left, trailing off the page focused on something unseen. The artist had been able to capture both a nervous undertone and an underlying hope just in the small emotional details inside expressive eyes. Beautiful lips, that had just minutes ago, been on his cheek, were pressed closed in a mysteriously seductive smirk.

Taking several steps closer he noticed the small, yet unmistakable markings in the bottom left corner that clarified him as the creator of the beautiful art piece. His right hand came up to scratch at his head, trying to recall when he had made this specific piece. Normally he could recall every single sketch he created, yet the origin of this one seemed to elude his eidetic memory, although faint feelings of envy and regret flew through him.

Beginning to walk down the hallway, Steve chalked it up to just another mystery he wasn't going to conclude today. Blue eyes turned towards the door on the right of the hallway, the final barrier between himself and the temptress that was Natasha Romanoff.

Gradually his right hand decreased the space between it and the door knob. His hand hovered to a stop, fingertips just grazing the metal knob. Several deep breaths helped calm suddenly fraying nerves, yet not enough to stop him from performing a sudden turn and swiftly heading into the bathroom across the hall.

Closing the door behind himself, Steve leaned back into the wood, allowing the sturdiness to help support his feeble feeling legs. Another couple full breaths allowed the nervous Captain to make it to the sink and turn the handles allowing a steady stream of water to fall.

He cupped both hands underneath the stream and splashed the cool water onto his face. Small drips of water trickled down sharp facial features as he pulled upwards to stare into the mirror's reflection.

An identical pair of blue eyes faced back at him. He leaned forward, closer to the mirror, examining the face staring back at him. A day or two worth of facial hair growth sat on his face, his hair slightly longer than he remembered it, combed with a part to the left. Noticeably, his eyes were bloodshot, streaks of red separating the white into fragments like a stained-glass window missing the color.

Suddenly, a smooth, pale hand appeared in the mirror, running itself over his left shoulder and coming to a rest at the collarbone. Delicate nails skimmed along the length skin covering his collarbone, bringing along a truckload of pleasurable shivers from head to toe, making the normally stalwart man feel weaker than his worst before the serum.

The slight pressure of her soft body against his back served to increase his nerves, only having been this physically close to the redhead when the mission for one reason or another called for it. She was not a person you would describe as, 'touchy-feely' besides with Clint Barton, although even the archer had limits on what the spy would allow.

Natasha's face appeared in the mirror over his right shoulder, her chin falling into place at the crook of his neck, green eyes meeting his own in the reflection, "What was taking you so long? You scared of little old me?" Natasha contorted her face into an expression of mock sadness, which she was only able to hold for so long before a smile started to break the façade.

Steve resolutely held her gaze in the mirror, bringing his hand up to grasp her own still wandering one. "No, it's not that. It's just…" A pause filled by another deliberate breath broke up his speech, "Its nothing. Just still waking up I guess."

The soldier turned a one-eighty within the confines of Natasha's grip, until the front of his body was facing hers. Inches separated the pairs lips, and Steve was again reminded of the time they had kissed to avoid detection by Brock Rumlow and his cadre of SHIELD agents.

Natasha leaned forward, inch by inch, decreasing the space between them until her lips lightly connected with his own.

The difference between a kiss of necessity and one of real passion was equivalent to night and day. While the first kiss was certainly pleasurable, although Steve had never admitted that to the spy, the potential fear of imminent death and knowledge that the kiss was just to help stave off said death, put a considerable damper on the moment.

At this point in time the only possible thought on Steve's mind was how soft and perfect it felt to have Natasha's lips on his own. One of her hands began to idly play with the hair at the back of his neck, as she stepped forward till a piece of paper would have a hard time occupying any space between them.

Soft curves clashed, in a delightful manner, against his solid chest. Intense pleasurable feelings coursed through Steve's body and not even the Hulk smashing through a solid brick wall would be able to pull his attention away from the woman he was connecting with.

Eventually the contact between their lips broke only for contact to be restored when Natasha tilted her head forward until her forehead rested against his. Long scarlet tresses of hair fell softly against Steve's face and created a sort of curtain barrier between them and any outside worries. For the life of him, the blonde man couldn't recall ever feeling so safe and comfortable in the arms of another, letting himself bask in the calming embrace.

"Steve?" Natasha's eyes peered into the depths of his own.

"Yes Nat?"

Her hand teased its way up to Steve's cheek, "Didn't your mother teach you to never keep a lady waiting?" She playfully flapped his cheek twice, before giggling at the flushed, on-edge state Steve was in.

Following the opening act of passion, Steve was plainly flustered and struggled to create full sentences, "Well you see, I… I umm. Dishes. In the-the kitchen. Because I wouldn't… I mean you are just."

The twinkle of mischief in Natasha's eyes spoke volumes, promising that he would never live this embarrassing attempt at speech down, amongst other things.

"What I mean to say is," Steve searched for a suitable exit from this wreck, "You look stunning, and I apologize for my own stupidity."

For several seconds, he was left to dangle in the wind, Natasha's face giving away nothing. Deciding that he had been accordingly punished she dropped the emotionless act and allowed her delight and amusement at the situation to shine.

As anyone with eyes could tell you, physically Natasha Romanoff was easily a stunning example of the feminine form. In this moment, Steve simultaneously wished that the world be allowed to see this breathtaking side of her, while wanting to also keep this vision as a treasure for him alone to indulge in. The pure joy she emoted amplified her physical beauty, and Steve could, without any doubt, claim that Natasha was the fairest of them all.

"Smart words Mr. Rogers. I suppose you will just have to make up for your tardiness later." The spy teased. "As much as I would prefer making you pay your debt right now, we should get moving. On such a nice day, we might have a problem finding a decent parking spot."

With that said she began to tentatively break the comfortable cocoon they resided in. Immediately the warmth from her body began to fade away from Steve's body and he forcibly stopped himself from gathering her back up against him, settling for once again clasping onto a hand and allowing her to pull him back across the hall into the bedroom.

The two quickly set into the routine of morning rituals, stripping off the clothing they had spent the night in, and dressing in more appropriate clothing for a day out.

Although Steve probably didn't have to avoid looking at Natasha, who was comfortably in the middle of changing, his eyes remained focused in front. Taking in the fantastic view outside the window and trying to avoid thinking about the infinitely superior view he was denying himself.

Several minutes later both were finished. Steve, simply clad in a short sleeved white shirt and casual blue jeans. Natasha had donned a modest purple button up and form fitting black jeans that molded to her form like they were vacuum sealed.

The former Russian spy was using a circular mirror that was fixed to the wall right next to the closet entrance, to help as she guided a pair of sparkling small diamond stud earrings on. "Why don't you go get James. Make sure he is ready, I don't want him running around dressed like some crazy pirate."

Steve's mouth dried up at the reminder of a child who bore the name of his best friend. Pushing down the painful reminder of past failures, Steve trudged onward into the hallway and to the right before stopping in front of a sleek modern maple door.

The sense of foreboding the familiar door had brought him earlier in the day was gone, leaving a subtle sense of anticipation for the prospect of what stood behind it. The soldier, who had faced down some of the greatest evils the world had ever seen, summoned the necessary courage to finally open the door and face whatever lay ahead.

First thing he noticed as he entered the room was that this was definitely a child's room. Posters of cartoon characters and movies, Steve had only ever heard of in passing, splattered the room, taking up the majority wall space. A small dresser occupied the left wall, various baseball related stickers dotting the drawers.

As he stepped further in Steve yelped out, falling to the ground as his right foot registered a large amount of pain.

Was someone or something attacking? Did he step on a land mine or a sharp nail?

He gathered up the courage to look down at his sure to be gory, horribly mutilated appendage and let out a gasp.

A Lego.

Not even a large one. A simple two by two, green Lego piece occupied the space where his foot had landed.

Tactically soft footsteps came swiftly down the hallway. Steve turned his head around and saw Natasha in all her glory framed by the door behind him. Her bare feet were spaced apart balancing her weight perfectly, ready to move at a moment's notice in any direction. A Glock Model 40 was held ready between her hands as she peered into the room, eyes searching for potential threats, "Steve. Status?"

Her question came out quickly, a hint of worry, barely noticeable beneath the Black Widow demeanor she had donned. Quick to dissolve that worry Steve answered her, "It was nothing. I just stepped on something, no need to worry."

Natasha shot him an incredulous look, before she dropped out of spy mode, turning the safety on and slipping the pistol into the back of her jeans. "You've got to be kidding me."

"Hey those little Lego's hurt like a- "

Before a rare curse left his mouth, Natasha moved quicker than the eye could comprehend and clamped her hand over it. Her eyes narrowed at him, and she gave a sharp gesture calling his attention to the area behind him.

His head swiveled around and came to rest on a small boy, dressed in a pair of khaki shorts and bright red polo shirt, who was standing a couple of feet away.

For a second Steve felt as if the world had come to a standstill. He felt as if he was staring into a mirror that was somehow connected to the past. It looked like a younger version of himself, although the bright red hair atop the boy's head stood out like a beacon atop a lighthouse. If he had to put a guess based on looks alone, Steve assumed he must have been around five years old.

While he had found himself speechless at the sight of the small child, the same could not be said for the small boy whom Natasha had referred to as James. "Daddy, are you okay?"

In that small moment, the boy's face full of concern, Steve felt his heart melt at the clarification, straight from the source, that he was a father.

Even though his thoughts were still muddled, and he still had no idea what was happening, Steve could not find it within himself to do anything that could cause harm to the young life before him.

"Of course, I'm okay. Just wasn't paying attention to where I was walking and hurt my foot a bit. No big deal." He answered reaching out with his left hand and ruffling the tufts of red hair atop his son's head. Steve couldn't help the large smile that broke out as James playfully swatted at his hand.

Content that his father was all right, James felt comfortable asking, "So we are still going to the zoo, right?" Small blue eyes twinkled brightly, excited for the opportunity to enjoy a fun day out with his parents.

Natasha couldn't help a small snort, barely holding in laughter at the boy's energetic excitement. "Of course, you must be excited since you actually got dressed yourself."

A pout, reminiscent of Natasha's own, took over James' face. "I'm a big boy, I can dress myself." Crossing his arms in a show of defiance, attempting to make himself look and sound older.

Steve's stare bounced back and forth between Natasha's comforting face and James' own innocent visage.

Natasha crossed her arms in response to the young boy's body language, "Really? Big boys clean their room, and make sure toys aren't scattered all over the floor. Right?" She challenged, her voice taking on a motherly stern quality that Steve had never experienced before.

Defeated, James arms dropped and his head hung in exasperation. He groaned aloud, "Ugh. Fine." Coping an attitude in one small word.

Not letting the attitude slide the boy's mother quickly interjected, "No not fine. James Clinton Rogers you will clean this room before we leave." Natasha leaned closer making sure a physical proximity punctuated her words, "Do I make myself clear?"

In that moment, Steve almost pitied the boy. While her voice still held a motherly warmth, it had become infused with something close to what she sounded like in the middle of a mission. Deadly confidence and power, somehow mixed the love only a parent has for a child to create a combination that was more frightening than any horror movie Natasha forced him to sit through.

"Yes, Ma'am." James squeaked out, quickly moving around the room picking up the toys that were scattered across the room, for fear of incurring his mother's wrath.

"Good boy. We will see you downstairs when you are done." The fiery matriarch commanded, leaving no room for argument.

The parents made their way back downstairs, Steve shooting glances of awe towards Natasha, while she tried to keep a smile inside pretending not to notice his gaze.

Stopping in the foyer, the two make quick work of slipping into their shoes. Steve's a black pair of comfortable low-top canvas sneakers and Natasha's a pair of stylish yet efficient trainers that she could spend a day walking in easily.

By the time, Natasha had found the car keys, James was bounding down the stairs, full of an energy only someone so young could hold inside.

"Did you finish cleaning James?" Natasha questioned.

"Yes mom." James replied his face failing to contain his excitement, "Can we go now? Please, please, please, please." He begged, "I want to see the tigers."

"Just go put on your shoes and we can get on our way kiddo." Steve acquired earning himself a glare from Natasha. "What?"

Her eyes rolled back as she scoffed at him. "You are such a pushover. If only our enemies knew how easy it was to bend Captain America over backwards."

Steve weakly defended himself, "I will have you know I can be very unyielding when I need to be."

The spy grinned at him, moving closer and fiddling with a nonexistent thread at the hem of his bicep. "I'm sure you can be mister." A condescending tone taking over her voice, "I'm driving by the way. Go make sure James is strapped in properly."

"Yes Ma'am." Steve yielded, moving after the child currently scampering into the garage.

Behind him the radiant beauty chuckled to herself, a thick smoky red aura surrounding her, "It's almost too easy."

Back inside the garage Steve was buckling young James into the back of the car, a safe, nondescript white four door sedan, with what appeared to be high quality bullet resistant glass. As he finished securing the squirming boy, Natasha made her way out and into the driver's side seat.

Steve closed the back door and plopped himself down in the front passenger's seat, stretching out, taking advantage ample foot room for his tall frame. He leaned back into the seat, head falling onto the fluffy, pillow-like headrest.

His left hand rested on the middle console of the car, absentmindedly tapping out an indistinct rhythm. Natasha's right hand snuck into his own and she gave a firm squeeze, the gentle hum of the engine fading into the background.

Feeling suddenly tired, his eyelids fell, as if pulled down by small weights and he began to drift off, only being able to focus on the soft hand once again rubbing a figure eight pattern into the back of his own.

"Steve, we're here. Get up grandpa, you got things to do." Natasha's coaxing voice sounded out at a calming octave.

His eyes fluttered open, a little surprised that he had apparently fallen asleep on the way over. Making up for his unexpected nap, Steve quickly got out of the car, helping James out of the backseat as penance.

Acting on a paternal instinct he didn't know he possessed, Steve scooped James up into his arms and situated him so that the boy was sitting on his shoulders. Joyful laughter bubbled out of his son's mouth as he enjoyed the simple act of being high in the air.

Natasha came around the car, shaking her head in mock disapproval at his actions. With a single look, he was sufficiently warned about what would happen should he drop the young boy. A small nod from him was apparently enough to quell much of her worries and they began to slowly walk down the concrete pathway towards the iron gates of the zoo.

As the small family unit walked towards the gates Steve couldn't help but survey their surroundings taking in potential risks, an instinct beaten into him from years of battle.

To his left the parking lot was filled with a variety of colors, rows of nearly identical cars perfectly centered in between the lines. His right was lined with full, bushy chestnut trees that provided plenty of shade and potential ambush spots. Before them the black iron bars of the gate separated the zoo from the outside world, establishing a full spectrum line of sight. Several three-foot-tall stone benches stood in front of the gates, which at a moment's notice could be used as suitable cover.

Natasha moved to her side and wrapped her right arm around his hip, pulling herself closer till she was tucked into his side, walking hip to hip. "Calm down, no one can attack us here."

Worry and stress melted out of the super soldier's posture and he flashed a small smile Natasha's way, displaying his appreciation that she had noticed and helped him deal with the stress so quickly.

They made their way to the booth and paid to enter the park, the young blond haired man gave each of them a small red stamp and smiled at them ushering them inside, "Thank you. Have a spectacular day."

The three walked through the turnstile and followed the signs leading them towards the Great Cats Exhibit.

The pathways were nearly empty, only the occasional group of visitors or vendors walking along the edges of the pathway, allowing the family a perfect road down the middle.

James' tiny hand began to lightly tap the top of Steve's head, grabbing his father's attention, "Dad, dad. Can I get a popcorn?" Pointing over to one of the vendors, a young blonde haired man with a plain white hat, standing next to a vintage popcorn cart.

A sideways look towards Natasha, who gave him a near imperceptible nod, "Sure little man, popcorn it is."

He paid the vendor, ensuring to be a polite, good role model for James. Saying please and thank you, while maintaining eye contact and an outgoing smile.

The young man responded in kind, "Thank you. Have a spectacular day." His smile seemed to stretch almost too large for his face, and Steve gratefully took the popcorn fill paper bag, passing it upwards to into James' grip.

The child and his parents finally arrived at the Great Cats Exhibit, moving from one specimen to the next.

The next hour or two was spent in much the same manner, spending several minutes observing the various animals before moving on to the next one in the queue.

They ended up in the artic exhibit, casually strolling around the habitat. James had long since made his way back down to his feet, energetically bouncing from one area to the next, while his parents kept a close eye on him.

"How does it feel to be around your frozen brothers, Capsicle?" The spy needled, knowing how much the Tony Stark branded nickname annoyed him.

"I don't know what you are taking about Ms. Romanoff." Blatantly ignoring her attempts to rile him up, even though there was a part of him that would always dislike Stark's stupid nickname.

"Ms. Romanoff huh?" She replied, her tone taking on a seductively sweet edge. "You know, roleplay is fun, but that kind of talk is meant for the bedroom Captain." Emphasizing the last word with a peck to his cheek. "Nowadays though, I just prefer Mrs. Rogers."

With a reflex borne from the serum he received over seventy years ago, Steve reached out with his left hand grabbing a hold of Natasha's arm at the elbow. His mouth opened, preparing to unleash new questions, but his eyes caught the glint of a gold ring on his ring finger, cutting off whatever he had been ready to say.

How had he not noticed that earlier?

Natasha turned her body towards him, looking up at him from beneath her lashes. "Something wrong with that Mr. Rogers?" A pale hand came up to rest gently against Steve's cheek, the cool metal of a matching diamond ring on her own hand, contrasting with the heat from her skin.

Steve fell back into the mist, allowing its grip to envelop him completely and surrendered to this moment, and the truth staring him in the face.

Two large, strong hands came up to frame Natasha's picturesque face. Blue eyes, with slight hints of hazel flecks breaking up the coloring, stared deep into loving emerald green eyes.

Without any more hesitation, Steve gave in, initiating a kiss with the beautiful woman in front of him.

His eyes fell closed, fully immersing himself into the reality of this specific second in time. Hopelessly in love with the one and only Natasha Romanoff.

Then without warning, the physical pressure of her body against his was missing. His eyes fluttered open, surprise and shock quickly flowing in at the lack of Natasha's presence.

His head rotated first, swiveling around trying to locate his redheaded spy, before his body followed turning himself in a full circle attempting to catch any sign of her. He glanced towards the exits, hoping to see her distinct form, or at least a clue of where she had taken off too.

Upon his inspection of the surrounding area Steve realized the exhibit was suddenly empty. No other people crowded around the exhibits. The animals themselves were missing in action, as if sucked up into the sky leaving no trace behind.

His son, whom he had constantly kept within his sightline, was gone.

Frantically the usually calm and collected Captain began to run in the direction he had last seen his son. The volume of his voice escalating as his search proved fruitless. "Natasha! James!"

Finding nothing, Steve began sprinting down the pathways, constantly calling out the names of those he cared for, hearing nothing in return but his own echoed words.

As he turned a corner Steve caught sight of the popcorn vendor from earlier and skidded to a stop in front of the man. "Have you seen my son, or the woman I was with earlier?" Panic clearly bleeding into his tone.

No response came.

"Did you hear me?" Steve shouted, "I need some help here. Have you seen them?"

The vendor finally acknowledged his presence, giving the frantic man a smile so wide it would seemingly cause pain. "Thank you. Have a spectacular day!"

Steve's patience finally had run thin, "Listen here you little…" He started, reaching out to grab onto the man's shoulders and shake some sense into him, only to come up grasping nothing but air.

Wide-eyed, he stared down at his hands, as if reassuring himself that they were, in fact, still there. When his eyes rose back up, the vendor had vanished as well. The faint smell of buttery popcorn, the only lingering sign that he had ever been there.

He turned around hoping to find something that would help reassure himself that he was not crazy, but instead only had that feeling reinforced.

The entire zoo which had previously been ominously empty, had also disappeared. Leaving him standing in the middle of a sea of black, creating a large empty dark space that stretched onward in all directions past any visible point.

Steve nearly began hyperventilating, unable to understand what was happening to him. Managing to take several deep breaths to help calm his fraying mental state, Steve surveyed the space, until his eyes came across nonidentifiable shapes in the distance.

Without any other options Steve jogged in that direction, slowly decreasing the distance between him and the shape.

As he got closer, the Captain could realize it was not one shape, but two, lying on the ground close together.

Closer still, he broke into an all-out sprint. Recognizing the small splash of crimson hair as it became visible.

"Nat!" screamed the dismayed Captain Rogers, dropping to his knees, and skidding a short distance to stop right next to the two bodies.

His hands visibly trembled, reaching out in disbelief towards the bodies of Natasha and his son.

Both were hardly recognizable, the visual, one of, if not the most disturbing things Steve had experienced in all his years.

Harsh, charred black skin, and ash covered the entirety of the visible areas of both bodies. The clothes, which he could vividly recall them both wearing just minutes prior, were burnt beyond recognition, small tatters of smoldering cloth melded into the skin. Somehow Natasha's silky hair had remained untouched, creating a disturbing dichotomy between her viciously damaged body, and pristine hair. A horrid, unworldly stench reaching cruelly into his nose, forcing him to push down the bile that threatened its way upward.

Steve's mouth hung open, somehow unable to draw in a breath despite his airway being unobstructed. Confronted with such a horrific visual, the normally stalwart Captain shuddered deeply, a chill settling into his bones that had nothing to do with temperature.

Unconscious tears slowly crept down his face, the small drops falling, disappearing into the darkness of the floor as if they were never there.

His hands completed the journey, resting reverently upon the top of each body.

As much as he wanted to deny the facts in front of him, Steve's eyes never wavered, staring down, unable to look away.

Unexpectedly two green eyes appeared, the whites of the eyes popping out against the singed skin of the formerly ivory skin.

Startled, Steve nearly fell back, just managing to hold his ground and not recoil backwards.

A horrible crackling noise ripped through the silence as Natasha's burnt lips slowly separated, tearing through the melted tissue bit by bit. Out of the now open mouth, a guttural, hoarse scream burst. The volume somehow too quiet, yet also deafening to Steve's ears.

He leaned forward hoping beyond hope to give some form of comfort to the suffering woman he cared for.

As soon as he initiated contact with her, both bodies imploded. The only memory of their ever having been there lying in two small piles of gray piles of ash spread on the dark ground.

Captain America's mouth opened in a silent scream, unable to verbalize the agonizing distress he felt.

Left alone with nothing, a zero sum, floating in the dark.

Steve's mind began to fall, lost in the mist.

Unsure of which way was up.

Unsure of what he was doing.

Unsure of where his life was heading.

Unsure if his actions meant anything anymore.

Afraid of what happened to those he loved.

Lost, straining for a sliver of hope that used to always be there.

Falling further. His feet unable to find purchase on something solid.

Running in place without traction. No branch to reach out and clasp before the inevitable tumble.

Suddenly his cheek burned, a dull throb enveloping the area.

"Cap!" A loud clearly male voice boomed out, another stinging bout of pain burning on the other side of his face. "I swear, your head is made of cement. Don't make me slap you again Cap."

The sensation of falling sped up, Steve's stomach dropped like during a large rollercoaster fall. His eyes closed, the sudden nausea nearly overwhelming him again.

Without warning both feet connected with solid ground. The abruptness of the change causing him to drop down hard onto one knee, metal grating digging its way through the layers of cloth.

His breath came in sharp gasps. A gentle hand resting on his shoulder giving him something else to focus on besides the dizziness and confusion.

"Cap?" the male voice called out again. Steve's ears picked up the noise of someone kneeling besides him on the metal grating, "Steve? Everything is going to shit right now. Could really use a little help right now."

Steve remained unable to respond, finding it difficult to just maintain his posture kneeling.

"Shit." Steve heard light footsteps move away from his position and focused on the noise, trying to hold onto something.

He managed to pick up faint tones that sounded like another male, a little desperation and determination bleeding in, but was unable to pick out any distinct words.

Finding the strength inside was more than a little difficult, but the soldier managed to breathe through the pain and open his eyes.

It took several seconds to adjust to the dim lighting, and all he ended up seeing was the somewhat rusty metal grating beneath his knee and a solid shape in front of him that appeared to be some sort of missile.

From behind, he was just able to make out the words of whoever had been speaking to him before. "Well, that's not gonna happen. Not for a while. The whole team is down, you got no back up here."

As his head slowly cleared, the voice began to ring a bell of familiarity.

Several deep breaths allowed Steve to sufficiently quell his discomfort. Just enough to crawl forward and slump into a sitting position against the slightly curved metal wall.

His head fell back landing with a soft thud against the metal, and he allowed himself to simply chill out. Relaxing as much as possible given the situation.

A bone deep fatigue caused him to close his eyes, hoping to gain much needed rest.

Rest was not in his near future, vivid images of Natasha and James' grisly bodies remained tattooed on the underside of his eyelids. The detail and sensory information he recalled forcing any thoughts of relaxing off a cliff.

The soldier forced him eyelids up, hoping the action would keep the images away. Unfortunately for him, the visual was cut off, but his other senses picked up, the disgusting smell, and unforgettable screams burrowing their way into his consciousness.

He tried to focus on something else, taking his own horror and forcing it down. The mysterious male voice, seemed to be getting closer once again, Steve's still blurry eyesight making out the shape walking towards him.

"Cap I know you are out of it right now, but we got ourselves in a bit of a situation here, and we need to get back to the jet." The voice became stern and commanding, and the soldier inside of

Steve responded, pushing through the haze.

Steve blinked, the blurry form starting to manifest itself into a more defined picture until he could make out the shape's identity. "Clint. What-what happened?"

An anxious, forced grin appeared on the Archer's face as he knelt in front of Steve, holding a hand out to help the super soldier to his feet. "Basically, this mission has gone FUBAR. A robot version of Stark has gone crazy; Thor, Natasha and you are down and out, Hulk is currently rampaging through Johannesburg, and we are for lack of a better word, screwed. Any questions?" Sarcastic annoyance clearly visible in his words.

The words sounded vaguely familiar, but Steve's mid came to a stall at the mention of Natasha being 'down and out', the rest of the speech drown out in his fear. "Natasha. Is she?" He couldn't bring himself to finish the question, the images of her suffering, burned body staining his brain permanently.

Clint shot him a quick look, his eyes narrowing, but still answered the unfinished question. "She is fine." A pause, "Physically as far as I can tell."

Steve let out a ragged breath his world once again tilting on its axis as the new information clashed with what he knew he had seen.

"But we need to get everyone to the jet quickly. Stark may need backup with Banner and we really need to figure out our next move." Clint continued, physically grabbing one of Steve's limp hands and heaving his dead weight to a standing position.

Steve stood still, his feet barely cooperating and holding him upwards relatively well. The archer turned around walking away while making a follow me gesture, that took Steve a second to comply with.

He focused on just putting one foot in front of the other. Following the other man across a walkway and down a steep set of stairs making their way towards a slumped over form, barely visible by the combination of dim lighting and the black suit they wore.

The soldier lagged a significant distance behind, allowing Clint to reach their destination earlier and kneel near the form. Placing a comforting hand on the person's back, Barton whispered too quietly for his super senses to pick up any specific words, but the person clearly responded. Picking their head up off their knees and turning around to grab onto the archer's hand, letting him pick them off the floor.

Red hair stood out like a beacon and Steve could swear his heart stopped beating for a couple of seconds. The contrasting images of Natasha, burnt and horrifically scarred, and the full of life, albeit shaken up version currently before him, threw his mind for a loop.

He wanted to say something. Anything.

Words had seemingly left him, and Steve was unable to make any noise at all. His eyes now misting over with unshed tears as he stared ahead, never breaking his gaze even as Clint began to call out to him.

"Steve." No answer or even visual sign the soldier had heard him. "Steve! Time to move."

A small nod was the only response he got, the soldier's blue eyes unblinking as they gazed at the redheaded spy who was leaning into his side. Clint noted the faraway look in the man's eyes and how he looked at Natasha with a mix of awe, horror and even more than Clint could deal with right now.

Natasha's former partner and fellow Avenger made a note to talk to Steve later, but his worry was already stretched thin. His small whispered conversation with the spy frightening him to the core. The looming threat of Hulk rampaging through a crowded city. Ultron and the massive potential for damage the robot presented, all served to divert his attention away from Steve's unusual behavior.

Clint lifted one of Natasha's arms up and around his neck, helping to keep her stable as they began their ascent out of the darkness that was the ships interior.

As he carefully maneuvered himself and Natasha up towards the sunlight, he glanced backwards catching a glimpse of the soldier making slow progress upwards.

He and Natasha broke out onto the deck, the bright, warm sunlight washing over them while Steve toiled behind in the darkness. His steps echoing out in the open hull of the ship as he slowly made his climb.

A/N: Hey everyone this is an old story of mine that I had started a long time ago on AO3. Just wanted to see if after IW people would want to go back to the quaint times of AoU. But a persons house getting burned down, losing around 20,000 words that had already been wrote made it difficult to continue for a time. I finally started getting back to a point where I actually want to write and am excited to pick this back up, I already have a ton of notes and rough drafts finished for this next chapter so hopefully it will be coming out soon.


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